


Choke

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Blood, Bruises, Childhood Trauma, Choking, Control Issues, Creampie, Cults, Developing Relationship, Elixir of Salvation (Mystic Messenger), F/M, Female Reader, Hallucinations, Hallucinogens, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mint Eye, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possessive Choi Saeran, Unhealthy Relationships, Unstable Choi Saeran, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: You let some of the tension bleed out of your body but with all the stars in the sky as your witness, you pocket enough courage and will to resist to make it out alive should things turn south. Though, it seems impossible with the way your knees are going weak from just the push and pull alone. And for as much as you want to take back what belongs to you, you'd just as easily hand yourself over to the boy who tattooed his name on the inside of your wrist.Lust is a dangerous drug but it never comes with a warning.
Relationships: Choi Saeran/Main Character, Choi Saeran/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 108





	Choke

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for one of the most wonderful people I've had the pleasure of meeting online. Alice, this one is for you my precious koala. I hope you like it!

The basement is a muddied haze of cold stone and dirty yellow light that spills down the walls like sick. The floor is coarse and gritty beneath your bare feet, stained with blood and amorphous shapes that tell a grave story without any preamble. Your head pounds, your stomach aches, and your body feels so hot that you're fully convinced that your skin is going to melt right off of your frame. You try to lift yourself up but the muscles in your legs have turned to pulp. You curl your fingers around the metal bars of your prison and press your forehead against the cold steel, desperate for even the slightest amount of relief.

You close your eyes and try to trace your footsteps in the snow but your mind is an avalanche consuming your ability to think; the debris is so thick that you can't imagine trying to parse through all of it. The pain of dredging up the past feels tangible, like a hammer to the back of the skull, and you almost give up when something flashes to the forefront of your mind.

It's not an entire conversation, only bits of paper and string stitched together in a haphazard, irregular fashion. Fragments such as _you did this to me_ , _make me stop_ , and _blame yourself_ bounce around your head—and there's certainly not enough to go on if you plan to lift yourself out of the mess that you're in.

You slowly open your eyes but you immediately regret the decision. You fall forward on your hands, knees digging into the cool grit as you empty what little is left in your stomach onto the floor. It's an amalgamation of mostly bile and saliva, and something that smells far too chemical to earn a place in your digestive system. Your head spins and you're not entirely sure if you're sick or if you've found a cure. You have a fever trapped inside of your head and your body shivers beneath a fine sheen of cold sweat.

You move away from the asperous patch of sick, feeling worn down to the bone, hacked and hewed, picked and hollowed. You feel archaic, a relic left in the cool damp recess of the basement to gather dust upon a shelf, to wither and rot. You pull your legs in close to your body and wrap your arms around your knees. You rock slowly, back and forth, as a litany plays like a lullaby in the back of your thoughts. It sounds like a blasphemous invocation, a prayer to the profligate.

The mix of bile and saliva shifts and spills toward the edge of the prison bars, thick and cloying and sickly sweet. It's as red as the blood between your knees and as dark as the deep bruises that mottle your arms. You dig your heels in against the floor and scoot away from the expanding puddle of gore, limbs trembling and lips moving on an irresolute confession.

You climb into a clawfoot tub and exhale a sigh of relief as the miry slough curls around four identical cast iron lion paws. You feel like you're running a race against fatigue but the static songs on the radio and the hunger carving a hole in your stomach make it impossible to sleep. Still, when the tub begins to fill up with orange juice and cherry Coke, you can't find the strength to move.

The ceiling shifts and you can count the dust motes swirling like tiny pinpricks of light above you. You reach out and catch a star on your fingertip, gilded in chrome that sounds like the soulless eyes of a madman. A voice spreads like smoke down the dimly lit hallway and you watch it grow thicker as it doubles in volume.

You're burning like a live wire, a firefly trapped in the caliginous damp of a human palm. You're floating toward the sky, moving through space and away from the mysterious bathtub that's just vanished right before your eyes. The air is soft and warm on your face, whispering secrets and promises against the shell of your ear. The wind laughs like an angel and when the turbulence gets too violent, he tucks you away in his gravestone chest.

You don't know how long you dance around stone markers and mossy statues, or how long you play behind the mausoleum at the back of the church, but when you finally happen upon the land of the living, the light stings your eyes, and the evenings spent inside your head dissolve into a singular cell. You press your fingers to your temple and try to pull yourself upright but a steady hand meets your shoulder.

“Take it easy. I should have been able to help you through the worst of it but I can't promise that you won't vomit with sudden movements.”

You squeeze your eyes shut before you attempt to blink the room back into focus. “Saeran?” you ask him, squinting through bleary eyes. The room begins to spin but a steady, deep breath calms the storm raging in your stomach. “Where are you?”

Saeran picks a glass of clear liquid up from the table beside the bed you've been stationed in. “I'm sure that I've lost your trust but I need you to listen to me one last time. I need you to drink this. You need to flush out whatever toxins are left in your system.”

You reach for the glass but your hand is shaking too badly to hold it. Saeran lifts the cold, smooth surface to your lips and you inhale the contents before allowing the beverage to spill into your parched mouth. It hits your tongue like nectar and you briefly wonder if Saeran fed you milk and honey from his fingertips when you were sleeping or if that was another figment of your imagination. You drink the cool liquid like it alone has the power to heal you and Saeran has to pull the glass away despite your whimpering protests.

“You'll get sick if you continue to drink like that. I'll let you have more soon,” he tells you, and it sounds like a promise, but if silence is the ocean then the stars are screaming at you in low tones of caution.

“How much do you remember?” Saeran asks after a moment of oppressive reticence.

You shake your head and furrow your brow as you try to sort the pieces of the puzzle from the atoms of artistry. “Everything seems so...surreal. I can't tell the reality of what happened from the fantasy.” You sweep your tongue out between your still-dry lips and look Saeran in the eye. “Are you really here?”

Saeran nods but he can't hold your gaze. Instead, he gets up and begins to pace around the room. “I feel like I'll lose you after I tell you the truth but you deserve to know.” Saeran bites down on the bottom line of his mouth and runs a hand through his hair. “I myself have been on the receiving end of that particular elixir more than once. I know its effects like the back of my hand.” He chuckles but the sound is dry, almost painful. “Can you believe that it stopped being strong enough for me?”

“You're not exactly helping me understand...” you trail off, carefully shifting to swing your legs over the side of the bed. It's uncomfortable at first, as your nerves decompress and the pressure of being supine levels out.

Saeran exhales a weighty breath. “Do you remember Ray?”

The question stirs your consciousness, then it's as if you've discovered a time-capsule in the hollow of an old wood tree. A torrential downpour of memories drench you down to the bone and suddenly you're wearing realization like a second skin. You snap your attention onto Saeran's face and the flash of movement sends a sharp spasm through your head.

“I remember. I was trying to get you to leave with me and–” Pain lances through your heart because you distinctly recall how Saeran had ultimately chosen Rika and Mint Eye over you. You exhale a shaky breath and lower your eyes to your hands, now folded in your lap. “You personally carried out my cleansing.”

“I did,” Saeran says, flat and inscrutable.

It's the level of calm in his tone that drives the hurt out of your heart, has disappointment overflowing into anger, and it's that fury that hauls you bodily to your feet.

“You _used_ me!” you shout and curl your hands into fists. “And not just at the start of things. You used me for _everything_! Even after I admitted to you that I–” Your breath hitches and you clutch at the space above your heart, suddenly aware that you're no longer donning the black dress you last recall wearing. “Did you _undress_ me when I was unconscious?”

Saeran's cheeks flush and it's all the truth you need, but, notwithstanding the tension in the air, he still says: “I didn't want you to lie in filth the way that... I don't think anyone should have to live in unsanitary conditions.”

You press your lips together and absentmindedly twist a shirt button between your shaky fingers. The blood you vaguely remember from the time you spent in Magenta's basement is nowhere to be seen, and while you wonder if Saeran simply scrubbed it from your skin, your body doesn't ache the way it should if you had been defiled. You shake the thought from your head and recenter your focus. You might not know Saeran as well as you originally thought—or perhaps hoped—but you don't think him capable of such evil.

“Where are we?” you blurt, sure that your lips were framed on a different question.

“In the mountains. We're safe for now. I don't know what lengths Rika will go to to find me—I don't even know if I was ever truly important to her. I think that maybe I was just a tool for her to use until I successfully created the framework of her Paradise.” Saeran presses his shoulder against the wall as if he's no longer capable of keeping himself upright on his own. “I'm so stupid. It's pathetic, isn't it? _I'm_ pathetic.” Saeran looks at you and you feel like you're staring, not at his face, but the bleeding heart perched on his shirt.

You make your way over to Saeran like you're trying to avoid broken glass, each step tentative and unsure. A deep ache thrums through your legs but it feels good to be moving—physically and mentally. “Saeran, you're not pathetic. There are a lot of things you need to sort through but it's not exactly like you've been given a fair chance.”

Saeran scoffs and sweeps his tongue over a particularly pointed canine. “Now you're pitying me.”

You feel a crease settle along the line of your brow and frustration slide through your veins. “I'm not pitying you. If anything, I'm sympathizing with you, which is more than I should be doing considering what you've done to me.”

Something flashes across Saeran's eyes and ends in his fist. You watch his hand curl into a tight ball, his knuckles turning white with strain. He looks anxious, like he wants to cut his nerves out from beneath his skin. The air is unsettling, heavy, and electric, the calm before the storm.

You feel gooseflesh prickle your skin while the fine hairs at your nape stand up against some unseen magnetic force. You rub your hands over your arms and try to ignore the icy shiver curling around the entire length of your spine.

“I sincerely hope that your anger isn't directed at me,” you manage, hating the way your voice shakes apart in your throat. “I shouldn't even be here...”

“And I _should_?” Saeran snaps, a product of his anger. “If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened! My whole world was turned upside because of your stupidity.”

You stand within an arm's reach of him, equal parts aghast and incensed, a candle burning at both ends. “ _Me_? You're going to stand there and act like you weren't the one who facilitated this?” A noise of shrill animosity breaks through the shadows lining your throat. “You are such an _asshole_! How many chances do you think you're going to get, Saeran? Do you have any concept of how badly you hurt me? You can't just play with people like they're hearts on strings or–”

Saeran digs his fingers into the very real bruises on your arms and hastily trades your positions. He slams you up against the wall, and it's a small mercy that you don't hit your head, but you don't have time to think about injurious possibilities because Saeran's pouncing on you as a predator stalks its prey. You feel small, folded up like a paper doll, but there are no teeth at your throat, there's no saliva or hot breath ghosting over your face—there's only the firm pressure of Saeran's lips slotted against your own.

You let some of the tension bleed out of your body but with all the stars in the sky as your witness, you pocket enough courage and will to resist to make it out alive should things turn south. Though, it seems impossible with the way your knees are going weak from just the push and pull alone. And for as much as you want to take back what belongs to you, you'd just as easily hand yourself over to the boy who tattooed his name on the inside of your wrist.

Lust is a dangerous drug but it never comes with a warning.

You lose all control of reason and fall prey to your real enemy: reacting solely off your baser instincts. You call out to the darkness where your deepest secrets are laid bare for all to see. It's a defining moment, one that decides between salvation and evolution; but you're tired of playing the role of the damsel in distress—so you card your fingers through Saeran's hair and tug him impossibly close.

Saeran licks into your mouth and flicks his tongue against the edges of your teeth. He kisses you with unrivaled passion, and it burns so hotly that you feel like you're standing in the light of the sun. He explores every inch of your aperture like the breath that catches in your lungs is enough to subsist upon. He growls against your mouth and bites down on your bottom lip, tugging the delicate flesh between his teeth. A pleasurable jolt of pain spears through you, has you tugging too tightly at his hair, and like with most things, Saeran takes the unspoken gesture for something it's not.

Saeran withdraws from the tingling sensation that remains on your lips as he fits his hand against the base of your throat. “I need to make something perfectly clear to you,” he starts, eyes boring a hole into your very soul. “I'm the result of a bad algorithm. The information that was put into me was rewritten, shaped by a hedonistic machine that left me as unstable as the foundation it stands on. I'm not insane, but I'm not entirely rational either.” Saeran digs his fingers in against your neck, his thumb dragging hot against your pulse point. “I'm unhinged.” He tears his free hand down the center of your borrowed shirt, sending buttons flying out across the floor like heavy raindrops. “I'm selfish.” He nips at the bottom line of your mouth. “I'm never satisfied.” His hand comes into contact with your skin, his fingers trailing up your side at a tantalizing pace, then back down to curl against the curve of your hip. “I might be the worst-case scenario.”

“Are you trying to change my mind?” you ask him, rucking up the hem of his sweater. It's the first time you're noticing it, how it hangs on his frame in an excess of ugly fabric that looks far too scratchy to be comfortable. It doesn't feel as harsh as it looks between your fingers but it doesn't matter because you want it off of him. “After everything that I've endured for you, _because_ of you... Do you really think you're going to scare me off with just that?”

Saeran takes a step back and shucks the hideous sweater, tossing it over his shoulder with no care as to where it lands. “Is that what you're getting out of this?” Saeran returns to his previous position before the floor can go cold and slips his fingers under the fall of your hair to grip the nape of your neck. “Don't be mistaken, my precious toy. I don't need words to frighten you, nor am I trying to dress you up in pretty words. I'm not trying to seduce you. I'm _telling_ you that you're not going to come out of this—whatever _this_ is—unscathed.”

“And I'm telling _you_ that I can handle it,” is your response, thick and shot-through with honey.

Saeran's mouth curves into a crooked smirk that sends a wave of heat pulsing through the low of your belly. “We'll just have to see about that then, won't we?” He tugs you out across the room and bodily pushes you down on the bed you woke up in not an hour ago. Everything seems to be moving at the speed of light but not nearly fast enough. It's a strange dichotomy, one that leaves you shivering down to the bone and desperate for affection.

Saeran is swinging a leg over your hips and you're pulling him back down into a searing kiss before you can inhale the entirety of your next breath. You try to slide a hand through his hair, missing the feeling of soft silk between your fingers, but Saeran is quick to pin your arm down on the bed. He tugs your bottom lip between your teeth with a soft pull, and when he bites down just enough to sting, he just as quickly smooths the ache with the velveteen swell of his tongue.

He teases bottomless exploration as he slides his tongue deep into your mouth but just as the kiss starts to intensify, Saeran pulls away. A weak whimper trails past your lips and the sound of it lands on Saeran's own in the shape of a wicked smile. “Does this mean that you've forgiven me?” He sits back and moves his hands to the rise and fall of your chest. He pushes the wilted fabric of the ruined shirt away from your breasts, his rapt attention burning through you just as sweltering as the drag of his fingertips against your bare skin. “I have to admit, you've made a lot of poor choices since our first conversation but this just might be your worst decision yet.”

“I didn't give you an answer.” You track Saeran's motion as he slides down your legs, fingers teasing touches against every inch of skin aside from the places you want to feel them the most.

That wolfish grin returns before he ducks his head and tugs the delicate skin of your collarbone between his teeth. A sharp gasp flees the dark of your throat and it spurs Saeran on. He bites down hard enough to bruise and sucks on the skin before flicking his tongue over what will surely be one hell of a mark. The thought sends a spark of something so electric through you that it lights up the entire length of your spine.

“What was that about an answer? I think I have all the information I need.” Saeran asks, arrogance dripping from his teeth like snake venom. It's alarming, how quickly he can switch between mediums, but you're in no position to make rational decisions with how he's making you feel—like you're going to burst out of your skin at any moment.

You open your mouth to attempt a response but the formulation doesn't come because Saeran steals the opportunity to lick into your mouth again. The way he kisses you is filthy, wild, and free. He licks behind your teeth, slides your tongues together in a sensual dance that _feels_ like fucking. His hands on your body feel stronger and bigger than they have any right to, and while it's not possible, you can't help but wonder if they've grown since the first day you met.

When Saeran finally draws away it's with a growl. A thin strand of saliva connects your lips like you're a single unit, and it doesn't break until he speaks. “I hate what you do to me. You make me crazy. You fill my head up with a mess of knowledge I can't decode.” His voice is harsh and grating but there's a layer of vulnerability shining just behind the glassy light of his eyes. “You make me want to bury you and bury myself inside of you at the same time. I want to hurt you and hate you and love you more than anyone ever has before.” He digs his thumb into the mark on your collarbone and watches the color of your complexion shift beneath his touch.

“Saeran,” you whisper, unsure of what else to say.

His gaze flickers to hold your own and there's something dangerous swamping the corners of his vision. “I wish that I could convince myself that you're ugly and impure and stupid. I want to utilize all of the ways I was manipulated and pin them on you. I want to break you down because it would be easier than having to face the truth.” Saeran slides further down your body and flicks his tongue out against a turgid peak. He gently rakes his teeth over your skin, leaving you to claw at the bed in helpless need.

“What truth?” you manage, breath hitching again when Saeran shifts to your opposite nipple.

Saeran places a kiss right above your heart and it's plain to see that he's contemplating whether he wants to answer that question. Admitting his innermost thoughts seems akin to kissing the palm of the devil's hand, and you're ready to tell him to forget it when he starts speaking.

“You're the polar opposite of everything I've tried to convince myself you were. You're beautiful and pure and smart, albeit too impulsive for your own good.” Saeran kisses down the soft give of your stomach. “You took the monster in me and turned him into something humane.” He kisses the line of your hip and flicks his tongue out to taste the heat and the fine sheen of sweat breaking through your feverish pores. “I still don't know if I can forgive you for that. You were supposed to play the role of the flower and I was supposed to be the stem. You were designed to be the soil I deeply rooted myself in. You were a pawn, a figurehead for the savior herself.” Saeran huffs a breath of laughter that sweeps over your skin. “I guess not much of that matters now.”

“I never intended to–”

Saeran shakes his head as he slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your provisional briefs. He tugs them down, slowly revealing your skin inch by inch until his patience wears thin and he pulls them off in one decisive motion. “It's strange to think that what was never truly about you became everything to do with you.”

You shiver under Saeran's touch and try to shift your focus away from how exposed you are. Saeran kisses his way back up your leg until his breath ghosts your inner thighs. His lips paint soft strokes across your skin with a tentative pressure that has you writhing against the thin mattress. He hums a pleasant sound, then bites down just enough for you to feel the tension of his teeth on your thigh. You card your fingers through his hair and Saeran braces his hands on your hips, keeping you pinned to the bed as he laves the bite with his tongue and sucks another mark into your complexion.

“Please,” you breathe, fingers flexing against the warm line of Saeran's scalp.

He lifts his head then, and his gaze is so clouded by lust that it steals every last breath from your lungs. Your lips tremble and you feel like you're sinking, drowning six feet under the swell, damned to hell with the rest of Leviathan's unholy creatures. “I need you,” you tell him, breathless and shaking.

Something breaks in Saeran as if he's trying to anchor himself in the center of a stormy sea—and you don't have to brave the turbulence to understand that he's never felt this way before, that he's never _known_ what it means to feel _truly_ needed, to feel wholly wanted without some ulterior motive. It makes your heart ache for him, makes you want to drape your arms around his neck and hold him and tell him that everything is going to be all right. But Saeran's thoughts are running parallel to your own like you're two trains speeding in opposite directions. You can't help but wonder who's chasing the sunset and who's running straight toward a dead-end, but your thoughts jump the track as soon as Saeran gracelessly strips out of bottoms.

He's thin and lean and there's not a stitch left on his body other than the dark ink that spills out across his skin. His abdomen is flat but not entirely without muscle, his hips are narrow, the sharp angle of bone visible beneath the milky skin that stretches up to the visible curves of his rib cage and down to the sinuous tissue of his pale thighs. Your attention is drawn between them, however, to the prominent jut of his cock, thicker and longer than you expected considering his bone structure and slender frame. Saeran catches you staring and strokes over himself several times, leaving his cock flushed and dripping at the tip when he settles himself between your thighs.

“Tell me what you want,” Saeran demands, but you have all the reason in the world to believe that he already knows full well what you want.

“Kiss me,” you gasp out, desperate to concede but refusing to simply give in.

The dig of Saeran's mouth tilts and he walks his fingertips up your leg as he centers his lithe frame. You reach up and curl your hand around the back of his neck as he moves to crush your lips together. The gradual shift of your limbs is uncoordinated at first, but after a brief moment of adjustment, every motion is as seamless as the horizon meeting the ocean.

Saeran kisses you like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Hot, open-mouthed kisses that make it impossible to tell where your gasps start and where Saeran's harsh breathing ends. He wedges a hand between your thighs and you cry out against his lips when he slides two fingers into your wet heat without preamble. You bend your knees and let them fall open, the delicious slide of Saeran's fingers stretching you slack and drawing another helpless cry up the back of your throat.

“Please,” you whisper, nails digging in against the raised vertebrae at the base of his neck. “Saeran, I...”

“I know, baby.” Saeran sweeps his tongue across his kiss bitten lips. “I feel it, too.”

He kisses you again, stifling the whimper that shakes apart in your chest when he withdraws his fingers. The loss of contact is short-lived, however, because subsequent to Saeran's knuckles brushing against your slick folds he's lining himself up to your entrance and pushing the head of his cock into you. He kisses you again as he gives you a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion and it feels as if the heat of him is everywhere. It's hard to breathe for the weight of it, for the gravity between you, too much and not enough all at once. You tug him closer, drawing him flush against your chest as he slowly cants his hips, pushing himself deeper.

It's startling, how easily you could get lost in him. You feel suspended in time, bodies moving in tandem as Saeran takes each inch as a personal challenge, fucking into you as deep as your body will allow. You kiss until the affection turns impossible and Saeran presses your foreheads together as he increases his rhythm. It doesn't take long before he starts to fall apart, but what's more, is how quickly you catch up to him. It feels like you're running a race, the tortoise and the hare, and every ounce of energy you saved up for this moment is bleeding out of you like summer skies.

“Can I? I want to...inside,” Saeran manages between gasps of broken inhalation.

You nod as much as the distance between you allows and feel the tacky heat of sweat clinging to Saeran's skin against your own. You fit a hand between your bodies but Saeran shakes his head in dissent and pins your wrist to the bed. You furrow your brow but he's already shifting, righting himself just enough to circle his thumb over your clit. You shiver in delight and worry your bottom lip between your teeth as Saeran pitches you into a full-body fever so brilliant it makes your head spin with delirium. Every rational thought is swept away with the winds of a hurricane, laying your head in the dust. Saeran applies more pressure to the sensitive organ and you cry out in equal parts pleasure and surprise. Electricity spills through you like lightning and your heart pounds through your ears like a low rumble of thunder.

Saeran curses your name and the sound of it on his lips tears through you like the sharp edge of a blade. He fits his free hand against the base of your throat and it's everything you never knew you needed. You close your eyes and catch the bottom line of your mouth between your teeth as you cross over the finish line, body aching and sore and so full of adrenaline that you feel taken to the sky. Your body spasms and a sound shatters on Saeran's lips like a broken hallelujah. The pressure at your throat slips into the boundaries of cautionary demise but no sooner than you feel Saeran fill the space between you, it dissolves into nothing more than sticky fingers and delicate weight.

Saeran buries his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he chases the ragged edge of his breathing. You wind an arm around his waist and stroke your hand up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him as he rides out the final aftershocks of his orgasm. “It's okay,” you whisper, holding him close as his arms begin to shake from the strain of holding himself up. “You can lie down. You won't hurt me.”

To your surprise, Saeran allows himself this luxury, lets himself feel content and safe as he lowers himself down into the comfortable warmth of your arms. He stays there for a while, eyes closed as his breathing slowly shifts back into usual calm, exhausted and sated and happy.

You note how your heartbeats are thrumming in cadenced harmony and let a slow smile spread across your lips. You continue tracing nebulous patterns along Saeran's back, fingers drawing nonexistent constellations around the lazy scrawl of your name.

“We should get cleaned up,” Saeran says groggily, his voice muffled by the curve of your shoulder.

“Soon,” you tell him, though you're not sure why when there's come drying between your thighs and sweat sticking to your skin.

Saeran groans sleepily, something unintelligible hanging off his lips as he shifts. He transfers most of his weight, moves his body to press against your side in a way that no longer inhibits your breathing. He looks at you with hearts in his eyes and artful desire on his lips but when he kisses you, you can taste danger and passion like leather and smoke and it's so full of Saeran that you want to swallow his very essence.

You might even go as far as to let it choke you. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
